


Cold Snap

by RedTeamShark



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Author Chose Not To Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:23:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: Michael’s got cold hands. Gavin has an idea.





	Cold Snap

**Author's Note:**

> Proper warnings, tags, etc, may come in the future. For the time being I'm frantically transferring my content to a stable platform amidst growing concerns about tumblr's inevitable implosion.
> 
> Apologies for flooding the fandom page.

Texas _would_ go through a cold snap just after he shaved his head, Michael reflected sourly as he rubbed his hands together to try to warm them up. Even though the bar was crowded, a swift breeze would pass through the room every time the door opened, sending him into shivers again. Goddammit, he’d left New Jersey to get away from this shit, but it seemed like there was no escaping it.

Gavin returned to the table with the next round of beers before he could do something drastic like stumble to the nearest Walmart and buy some mittens (or, more realistically, sit on his hands), the cold beer doing nothing to improve his cold hands. Though it did improve his mood somewhat, the scowl melting into laughter as he drank.

Finished with the second round of drinks and not quite ready to go onto the third, Michael rubbed his hands together again. “What d’ya keep doing that for?” Gavin asked, leaning forward slightly and raising his voice to be heard over the din of the crowded bar.

“My hands are fuckin’ freezing, dude. Aren’t you cold?” Michael reached up, trying to plant his hands on Gavin’s cheeks to demonstrate just how cold he was.

The Brit dodged out of the way, catching his wrists with surprising swiftness given that this was Gavin and they’d had a couple of bevs each. He seemed to contemplate the pale hands currently held trapped by him, before shrugging and yanking Michael’s arms downward. He planted the other man’s hands firmly between his knees, a wide, self-satisfied grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing.” The curly-haired man frowned, trying to yank his hands out of the bony trap they were caught in.

“Your hands are cold. I’m warm. So I’m warming you up.” Gavin’s grin only widened, his eyes squeezing shut with his obvious pride at having solved his friend’s problem.

“You’re a fucking moron.” Michael ground out the response, pulling his arms again. “Your knees are bony as fuck and not warm at all. Shit, your little chicken-legs are so tiny my hands aren’t even completely covered! Look!” He wiggled his thumbs to demonstrate his point, frowning right back at the Brit’s ever-widening grin.

“You could move your hands up.” He suggested, releasing his grip just enough for Michael to be faced with a decision—move up Gavin’s thighs to the supposed warmth there, or pull away completely and deal with cold hands.

Cold hands really sucked.

He pushed his hands upward until they were resting on Gavin’s inner thighs, the other man immediately squeezing his legs together again. The auburn-haired man found himself leaning closer to get into a more comfortable position, sighing and letting his head rest on the other’s shoulder. “Well, you are kinda warm.”

“Hope it doesn’t look like you’re giving me a hand, though.”

That made Michael freeze, tensing and looking around the room. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to them, but did that make the situation better, or worse? Suppose someone looked over and thought that was what he was doing? He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with this shit.

“Fuck you, Gavin.” That was usually a good response to any sort of comment that made him want to start blushing. He could pretend the flush on his cheeks was anger instead of embarrassment.

“Aw, Michael, come on. I do you a favor and you’re rubbish to me. What happened to Team Nice Dynamite?” Gavin pouted, reaching up and pinching one of his cheeks lightly.

“It’s gonna be Team My Foot Up Your Ass if you keep this shit up.” Michael tilted his head up, trying to glare effectively without actually pulling away. Fuck it, the other man was warm and he was cold, he didn’t care that much.

They settled into silence, Michael’s hands slowly warming up. Gavin draped an arm over his shoulders, free hand tapping away at his phone. After a few minutes he held it up, Michael realizing too late that the other man was taking a picture of them. He shot him a glare, cheeks once again going red.

“You better not fucking tweet that, you asshole.”

“Thought about it, but nah. Sendin’ it to Meg.” That got Michael’s attention and he tilted his head, trying to see the screen.

“What’s the caption?”

“I’m debating between ‘guess where his hands are’ and ‘holding my second favorite ginger.’ Thoughts?” Gavin’s fingers hovered over the phone’s on-screen keyboard, ready to type.

Michael frowned, considering it for a moment before shrugging as much as he could with his hands still trapped between Gavin’s thighs. “Second one. Then first one. Then tell her that Lindsay’s free tonight if she’s jealous.” He decided finally, nodding to himself.

“Sounds good to me. Your hands warm yet?” Gavin’s focus was on his phone, fingers flying over the touchscreen as he sent the messages.

He considered the question, considered the tingling warmth in his fingertips and the feel of rough denim against the backs of his hands. He shook his head. “Still fuckin’ freezing.”

A brief nod from the other man. “You’re gonna have to move when we want another round of bevs, though.”

“It can wait until I’m warm.”


End file.
